


Little Things

by ItchyToaster, quentintarantowo



Series: People Like Us [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Anal Fingering, Descriptions of Injury, Flashbacks, Gags, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intercrural Sex, Lynching, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Racism, Racism, Scars, mentions of lynching, use of the n-word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 02:50:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15572040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItchyToaster/pseuds/ItchyToaster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentintarantowo/pseuds/quentintarantowo
Summary: After nineteen years, Stanley Uris and Mike Hanlon start to understand why no one stays in Derry, why the town was always condemned to be a breeding ground for the mundane and the miserable. After nineteen years, Stanley Uris and Mike Hanlon decide it’s their time to take what has been given to them and run.





	Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t have asked for this to turn out any better. [floppie-diskk ](https://floppie-diskk.tumblr.com/)is such an amazing person to write with and being able to collaborate on something so powerful and so beautiful has been so thrilling I couldn’t have asked for a better writer to do this with. Please please please be mindful when reading this. It can be a lot to swallow. Alyssa (floppie-diskk) and I hope you will appreciate this and love it as much as we do, and look forward for what we have in the future :) -Moe <3

_“You and Daddy be safe now, you hear?” Jessica called out to the men walking down the steps of the front porch. Her husband waved her off with a scoff._ __  
__  
_“Me and Mikey are men now, Woman, we can protect ourselves,” Will called back, laughing heartily at the look Jessica shot him in return._ __  
__  
_“Call me woman one more time an’ I’ll burn the collard greens on purpose,” She warned with a cocked brow. Will threw up his hands in surrender._ __  
__  
_The man hoisted his son over his shoulder, the 10-year-old letting out a soft giggle as he clung to his dad’s head. Will tugged the fishing poles behind him, whistling as he entered the thick woods behind their property._ __  
__  
_“I’m gonna catch the biggest damn fish in that river, Daddy!” Mike chirped with delight, his fingers buried deep in his father’s wooly hair._ __  
__  
_“Who told you you could curse?” Will hummed as he traveled through the maze of trees, following the path that his own father had burned into his mind. He reached out and touched each oak tree with his palm, the bark scratching against his worn fingers._ __  
__  
_“You said grown-ups could curse, an’ I’m 10 now, so I’m all grown up!”_ __  
__  
_“If you curse in front of Mama you gon’ get your tail whipped, Mikey. Don’t talk like a grown up in front of Mama, okay? She don’t like cursing,” Will replied, “an’ you ain’t no grown up. You gotta lot more growin’ to do.”_ __  
__  
_Mike frowned, tugging softly on his father’s curls in response._ __  
__  
_“Mike, I’ll throw you in the river and make you live with the fishes,” Will joked, smiling as he heard Mike let out a sound of fear. “What, you don’t wanna live with the fishes?”_ __  
__  
_“No, no! I wanna live with you an’ Momma,” He mumbled, resting his chin on the top of Will’s head._  


_Will patted his son’s thigh, sighing as he came upon a massive oak tree close to the river’s edge. The branches were as thick as the trunk, jutting out in all different directions. Will reached up and grazed his fingers over the underside of one branch, humming softly._  


_“I used to climb this tree when I was your age, Mikey,” Will mused, setting his son down. He patted the trunk of the tree, reminiscing about the times he spent there._

 

_“God made you under this tree right here. Mama an’ me laid down by the roots an’ told God how much we wanted a little boy to raise. That’s when God came down an’ planted you right in Mama’s belly, Mike. You stayed in there for so long, we weren’t sure you was gonna ever come out.”_

_“Mama told me I done came from a pumpkin patch,” Mike said, kicking around the rocks that laid next to his feet._

  _“Mama ain’t get you from no damn pumpkin patch,” Will snorted, giving his son an amused look. “you ain’t orange like a pumpkin so why you think you came from a pumpkin patch?”_

  _“Mama said that I was orange but y’all cover me in paint or else the white folks woulda’ put me in a pie.”_

  _Will let out a howl of laughter, throwing his head back as he cackled. Unlike Will, Jessica would rather tell Mike some tall-tale than the truth. Said that he wasn’t old enough to be knowing about certain things. Will didn’t agree, but he wasn’t about to argue with Jessica any time soon._

_Mike glanced up at his father, his lips curling back into a toothy grin as he started to laugh himself. He loved making his father smile. Will snickered as he scooped his son into his arms, spinning him around in the air. Mike let out a cheer as he was spun, giggles escaping his smiling lips. Will pulled him into a short embrace before setting him down, ruffling his hair with a sigh._

 

_Snap._

 

_Will’s head shot up as he heard the sound of a twig breaking, his eyes going wide as he saw a white figure come into view._

  _“You don’t say nothin’, Mike, you hear me?” Will whispered, stepping in front of his son._

  _The white figure soon turned into four, each one wearing a devilish grin. The huskiest of the group stepped forward, twirling the rope he held in his hand. “Well, well well… what do we have here?”_

_Will’s body shielded Mike’s, standing in front of his son as the four strangers stalked towards the two of them._

 

_“We don’t want any trouble.” Will’s voice was as steady, but the hand that was placed on Mike’s shoulder was shaking madly, the grip becoming tighter with every step taken closer and closer to them._

 

_“Sure you don’t, Hanlon.” The white man jeered in a patronizing twang, flashing a toothy, devilish grin at him, the thick rope between his hands wrapping tighter and tighter around calloused bruised knuckles. “That’s why you decided tuh’ take our land from us, huh? Takin’ all the money home tuh’ yer nigger wife and kid.”_

 

_The grip on Mike’s shoulder tightened again._

_“Sir, I don’t know who you are, but we can leave—”_

_“NO!” The man barked. Mike jumped at the abrupt noise, the peaceful sound of the river drowned out by the beating of his own heart._

_“Yer’ gon’ pay for takin’ our land, Hanlon.” He snarled, and the three other men inched up closer to Will, all with wild looks in their bloodshot eyes._

  _Mike let out a soft gasp as the man suddenly locked eyes with him, his lips curling back to expose his yellowed fangs._

 

_“Boys looks like we got ourselves a nigger baby, too!” He jeered, the other men suddenly erupting into a hideous choir of cackles. They moved to get a good look at Mike, dark eyes filled with unspeakable thoughts._

_Mike puffed out his chest in defiance, curling up his fists before sticking them out in front of himself for self-defense._

_“I ain’t no baby! My Daddy says I’m all grown up!” Mike yelled back at them, wincing as he felt Will’s palm hit the back of his head hard._

_“Keep your mouth shut, son. These folks don’t like bein’ spoken to like that,” Will whispered, pulling Mike into his arms, his grip still bone-breakingly tight around his son. Mike stayed silent, the sound of his father’s harsh voice a commanding, but comforting sound in the midst of terrifying chaos._

 

_“Seems like this lil’ boy needs tuh be taught a lesson, don’t ya’ think, Hanlon?” The white man spat, just inches from Will’s unflinching face._

_“Don’t touch my son, Bowers.” Will growled, voice low as his dark eyes met crazed icy blue ones. He only got a menacing chuckle in reply._

_“So you do ‘member me, huh, Hanlon?” Another toothy grin appeared dripping in mock-glee. Will didn’t reply, his face completely stoic as a callused hand came to rest atop his own on Mike’s shoulder, gripping hard._

_“Don’t touch,” Will emphasized his words by removing Bower’s hand. “My son, Butch.”_

 

_Without another word, red bloody knuckles collided with Will’s jaw, sending the man stumbling backward and losing his grip on his son’s shirt. Mike yelled, trying to reach for his father’s hand when the collar of his shirt was pulled backward. The boy tripped over his own footing at the sudden movement, falling back into the violent grip of two pairs of hands, pulling his arms to his sides and gripping his bared neck._

 

_“D-daddy!” Mike gasped, his windpipe beginning to become crushed under thick, grimy fingers. He watched, trying to pull his arms out of the vice that held him while his father struggled against Butch and the other stranger._

_The sight was a blur, the sounds of his father’s pain ringing clear over the constant sound of the river. Mike still struggled with all his might, though his throat was tight and his muscles were strained with every push and pull he tried against the strong hands that held him far away from his father._

 

_Mike called out to Will again in a broken sob, watching his father’s tired, beaten body hit the ground with a thud. Will’s limbs trembled, placing his palms on the dirt as he tried to raise himself up, only to be pressed back into the ground by a dirt-caked boot._

_“Stay down, boy!” Butch barked, pulling up Will by the scalp and looking him in the eye. “Y’ think after all this time I ain’t gon’ make you pay?” He snarled, his teeth gnashing with all the ferocity and anger of a rabid dog._

_“Daddy, get back up!” Mike cried, his tears dripping down his face as his father’s once bright eyes looked at him with a dim, faded gaze. The light that once was ablaze in Willam’s eyes was suddenly put out, instead replaced with a numbing sadness._

_Mike’s outburst made Butch’s head turn away from Will. His bloodshot eyes set on the young boy, another terrifying grin curling on his chapped, bloody lips._  

_“String him up too, boys.” He chuckled. Mike’s blood ran cold. A thick, rough bundle of twine encircled his neck, tugging tight. The wind that had rested in his throat was squeezed out of him with every tie, and Mike was suddenly left gasping for air as he watched the same mess of strong rope wrap tightly around his father’s neck._

 

_As the air became thinner, Mike’s vision began to fade, the horrid laughter that came from the strangers becoming meshed into a singular sound of violent, unhinged evil._

_With a strained gaze Mike watched as his father’s head was tugged up, his body too becoming limp like his own. Mike blinked up at Will, trying to form any sound at all, a scream, cry, a whisper, but the rope around his neck was too tight, only encircling his neck more as he was dragged to and fro, closer and closer to the old oak tree._

_Will looked at his son, gasping for breath as Butch’s large hands squeezed and squeezed his neck. “M-mike,” He hissed, the sound choked and hoarse. “Y-your knife.”_

_The toe of Butch’s boot collided with the side of Will’s head, a nasty bloody gash forming as Will’s body went limp. Mike screamed._

  _••_

 

Stanley’s gentle hand rested over Mike’s, pulling the other man out of his mind and back into the present.  
Mike was once again at the edge of the river. The sounds of water flowing and birds that filled his ears sent waves of bitter nostalgia over him. Stanley sat to his right, glancing over his shoulder at Mike.  


Stanley looked amazing.

 

His dark curls framed his face like a vine on a fence, his lips curled up into a pretty, blissful smile. Mike couldn’t help but hum at the way the sun danced off of the boy’s face to his delight, painting natural highlights in that mess of hair Mike adored so much.  
“Thank you for taking me here, Mike,” Stanley whispered, squeezing his hand gently to get his attention.  
“You’re welcome, Lamb,” Mike replied, chuckling with delight at the way Stanley’s pale face flushed at the pet name. The affectionate name was bestowed onto Stanley back in 7th grade when Mike had noticed how those soft black tendrils looked like wool.  


Mike smiled before looking down at his reflection in the water. The image danced and rippled with the river’s current, taking the image and morphing it to flow with the rapid path of the water. He sighed heavily at the sight of the tree behind them in the reflection of the water, furrowing his brows with a slight frown.

The old oak was a comfort, but it also made him uneasy. Mike could feel his father’s spirit there, but he also felt the pain and rough rope around his neck when he looked at a certain branch.

 

Mike’s focus was suddenly back to Stanley, who was pushing him onto his back gently.  
“Lay down, Dove,” Stanley instructed with soft words, rolling his eyes at the exaggerated groan Mike let out.  
“What are you planning, Stan?” Mike chuckled, sighing as he felt the boy straddle his lap. Stanley stayed silent, reaching forward to trace the scars around Mike’s neck. Mike flinched slightly, tilting his head to let Stanley get a better look.  


“Can I ask where you got these?” Stanley asked, his thumb grazing over Mike’s scarred skin and his Adam’s Apple. Mike nodded softly, blushing as he felt Stanley’s fingers brush against his scars with a tender touch. Stanley was always so gentle, so mindful of which areas were more sensitive than others and which type of touch to use with each person.  
“A...A group of men tried to lynch me,” Mike started slowly, eyes diverting from Stanley’s gentle gaze. As he spoke, Stanley’s face shifted to one of concern and sorrow, fingers moving away from Mike’s scarred skin. Mike grimaced as the memories started to flood his mind, “I managed to cut myself free before they gutted me.”  
Stanley listened closely brow knitted with empathic pain. His gentle hands cradled the side of Mike’s face, fingertips stroked Mike’s cheek, shushing him softly as a tear fell from his eye.  


“I was so scared, Stanley,” Mike whimpered, eyes shut tight. “We didn’t even anything wrong and they still killed him. He didn’t do anything wrong. It...it’s not fair.”  
“Shh...calm down, Mike...you’re okay now,” Stanley whispered, his other hand moving up to tangle his fingers in Mike’s hair.  
“He was so nice, Stanley,” Mike murmured, looking up into those comforting blue eyes. “he was so nice to them. And they just killed him—fuck—they made me watch Stanley—” He called Stan’s name with a choked sob, eyes shutting again.

 

“Mike,” Stanley snapped abruptly, getting the other man’s attention, “you have to calm down or you’ll make yourself sick.”  
“Okay…” Mike sniffled, wiping his eyes dry as he tried to stop his tears. He took a deep, shaking breath, staring up at Stanley. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but Stanley shook his head, holding Mike’s face in his hands.  
“Don’t apologize, Mike. It’s okay to cry,” he replied, with a weak smile, placing a chaste kiss to Mike’s temple. Mike nodded in response, letting out a sound of approval when Stanley kissed him. Stanley blushed, his hands moving down to Mike’s chest before sitting back up.

“I’ll show you mine...since you showed me yours,” Stanley breathed out, a chill running up his spine.  


Stanley swallowed back his fears before tugging off his own shirt, shivering as he felt the air hit his back. He folded it and set it aside, blushing from embarrassment as he sat up straight so Mike could get a good look at him.

Scars were lined uniformly across his abdomen, a few looking slightly fresher than the others, but it was hard to tell due to the multitude of them. The sigh of them made Mike wince slightly. The scars were littered on Stanley’s forearms as well, deeper and more prominent.  


Mike had always guessed something was slightly off about Stanley. He noticed how he never stripped completely at the quarry, or how he had started wearing long sleeves shirts during the summer. No one around them to question it, so Mike ignored his curiosity and just enjoyed the time spent with Stanley. He had always thought it was a bit peculiar, however, he pushed away those thoughts.

Mike reached forward, grazing his fingertips gently across the blemishes. Stanley let out a soft whimper at the touch, trembling slightly as he shook his head.

 

“Sorry,” Mike whispered, pulling his hand back.

“It’s fine...” Stanley breathed out eyes meeting Mikes. “I just didn’t expect you to touch them.”  
“Where...where did you get them?” Mike asked, noticing the sudden discomfort in Stanley’s face at the question.  
“I… I don’t want to tell you,” Stanley’s voice was barely above a trembling whisper, “I told Bill...and now he treats me like I’m fragile. I don’t want you to treat me like that.”  
“I won’t,” Mike promised, looking at Stan earnestly. Those blue eyes glanced away from Mike for a moment, chewing his bottom lip as he thought over something. He finally looked back at Mike, sighing.  
“...I cut myself,” Stanley admitted shamefully, glancing away, “with a razor I stole from my dad.”  
Mike furrowed his brows, slightly trying to process why Stanley did that. He only knew one or two people in town that had cuts like that, but they were girls younger than him.  


“Why?”  
Stanley tensed up at his question before he relaxed with a slight shrug, crossing his arms.  


The first time Stanley had felt the itching, he screamed his head off. His father stared in horror as his 6-year-old son screeched from the itching, scratching hard at the skin on his face. The doctors had said it was a mental problem instead of a physical, a side effect of OCD. Stanley had to wear special bracelets that monitored his heartbeat so his father could see if he was about to slip into another itching attack. The bracelets helped, sure, but they only prolonged the inevitable itching that would attack Stanley at his most vulnerable. The only time it seemed to dull was when Stanley broke the skin from scratching, blood caked under his nails.

 As he got older, he matured from scratching with his nails to his dad’s razor, sliding the blade across his white stomach with a hiss. Over the course of a few months, Stanley covered his stomach with harsh cuts, his hearing and vision muffled as he focused on the feeling of the blade splitting the skin apart. Once all the room was taken up on his abdomen, Stanley moved to his forearms, the itching never leaving for more than a moment.  


“...I don’t know,” he lied, his voice barely audible compared to the sound of both of their heartbeats.  


Mike bit at his bottom lip as he thought over Stanley’s answer, his fingers lingering over Stanley’s abdomen. His skin was free of most blemishes and was soft to the touch. Stanley was pretty as a dime, though the scars layered over his body.

 Mike’s breath hitched as he felt Stanley shift in his lap. He looked up at Stanley, both of them sharing a knowing look. They were tired. Tired of what life had given them. Tired of not being able to rest and enjoy the little things.  


“Promise me you won’t do this again?” Mike whispered, Stanley’s eyes meeting his again.

 “I can’t promise that—”

 “Why not?” Mike asked, chewing on his bottom lip as he admired Stanley’s face.

 Stanley went silent, turning his head away from him in an attempt to hide from Mike’s gaze. Mike reached up and held Stanley’s chin, making his eyes meet his own.

 “I can’t promise that I won’t… but I promise I’ll try not to do it again.”

 “That’s good enough for me,” Mike smiled softly, caressing Stanley’s cheek.

 

Stanley leaned down, resting his head on Mike’s chest with a soft sigh. Mike closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Stanley’s body on top of his own. The hot summer sun beat down on Stanley’s back, causing the boy to let out a soft hum of pleasure at the feeling. Mike sighed as his fingers ran through Stanley’s soft hair, his other hand placed on the small of Stanley’s back, rubbing gentle circles in his skin. Mike couldn’t help but drift off slightly, his memories coming to the front of his mind.

  _••_

 

“ _Oh my god,” Jessica gasped, dropping the plate in her hands as she moved to cover her face. The sound of their cheap T.V couldn’t drown out the deafening silence that suddenly filled the house, her skin crawling at the sight in front of her._  


_Mike stood in the doorway of their home, tears streaming down his face as he stared his mother in the eyes. His lip was a red, busted mess, eyes beat black and blue; sweat dripped down his forehead. He was still catching his breath from running back from the river, tripping over his feet and scraping his knees every time he fell with a yelp. A thick coil of rope hung around his bruised neck. Thin fingers were wrapped tight around an old pocket knife as he stepped forward. A wrecked sob escaped Jessica’s mouth._  


_“Don’t cry, Mama,” he whispered hoarsely, wincing as she pulled him into a bone-breaking hug._  


_Jessica felt her head throb as she held onto her son. Her grip was strong like the bark off of the tree her son had been strung up on. Mike wrapped his arms around her waist, rubbing her back as he let the knife fall to the ground with a clatter, the sound being the only one to cut through the deafening silence._  


_“Did they get both of you, baby? What did they do?” Jessica croaked out, bottom lip quivering as she pulled back to wipe the tears from her son’s eyes._ _“I couldn’t— I’m sorry, Mama, I couldn’t cut the rope fast ‘nough and-d Da-Daddy was strung up first,” Mike stuttered with a sniffle, heartbeat pounding hard and loud in his skull. He closed his eyes, shaking his head as the image of his defeated father flashed in front of him._

 

_His vision became a blur when his mother let out an agonizing scream of pain, falling onto her knees. Her nimble fingers pulled Mike down with her. Mike’s chest felt tight as his mother’s voice began straining with painful, wailing sounds of grief. Mike held onto her all night, rocking her back and forth in his arms._

_••_

 

Mike stirred awake when he heard the familiar sound of his mother’s voice, letting out a groan as he opened his eyes. The sky had turned grey while he slept, dark clouds covering it like a thick blanket.

 

“Mike! Mike, I’m gonna tan your hide if you got me walkin’ out in this storm for nothing!” Jessica called out, huffing as she came upon the river.

 

She gripped the pocket knife in her hand, knitting her brows when she spotted Stanley’s discarded shirt and ascot. She gathered the clothing into her arms, letting out a soft huff as she trekked through the tall grass and weeds. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Mike, hiding behind an oak tree as not to be spotted by her son. She watched in confusion as Mike sat up, her son coddling the white stranger in his arms.

 

“Wake up, Lamb,” Mike yawned quietly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as Stanley shifted in his lap.

 Stanley frowned as he slowly came back to consciousness, stretching with a whine. He wrapped his arms around Mike’s bruised neck, pulling him into a gentle, lazy kiss.

 “What time is it?” Stanley asked with a soft yawn, shivering as the cold air hit his exposed back. He looked up at the sky to find the sun hidden by clouds that began to rumble quietly.

 Mike shrugged, his fingers tangled in the other man’s curls. Stanley took a deep breath before sighing heavily, raising his hand up to Mike’s face to cradle his cheek.

 “I got that wristwatch as a birthday present for a reason, Mike,” Stanley mumbled with a smile, pinching his lover’s cheek.

 “You know I can’t wear a wristwatch that nice. Mama’s going to think I stole it,” Mike teased, his head jerking up when he heard his mother hum in agreement.

 

 “I sure as hell would have, Mike. Now, you gon’ tell me why you hugging and kissing up on some boy I ain’t never seen before?” Jessica snapped.

 

Stanley scrambled out of Mike’s lap, sitting on the edge of the dock while Mike shifted further back, his shoulder blades pressed against the bark of the sturdy oak. Jessica’s hands were placed on her hips as she watched the two flustered boys attempt to get as far away from each other as possible.

 

“He just a friend, Mama, I promise,” Mike blurted out, heart beating away in his chest. Jessica shook her head.

 “You don’t kiss up on friends, Mike! And you _definitely_ don’t kiss up on no white folk!” She hissed, the tone of her voice making both her son and the other boy jump. “What if someone found you? You could be arrested. Or _worse_.” Her eyes never left Stanley, who was now sitting so close on the edge of the dock, he nearly slipped off.

 Stanley blushed madly as he stood up, covering his chest with his arms.

 

“He isn’t like other white folk, Mama! He’s Jewish; people don’t like him either.” Mike tried to explain, Stanley nodding in agreement.

 “You Uris’s boy?” She asked with an arched brow, tone still sharp.

 “Yes Ma’am, he’s a rabbi here in Derry,” Stanley answered, making sure to keep his distance.

 “He know you here?”

 “No ma’am, he wouldn’t let me come over if he knew about Mike,” Stanley frowned, glancing at the boy still sitting by the thick roots of the oak tree.

 

Jessica hummed in thought, looking at both her son and the scared boy in silence. She watched the gentle gaze Mike had as he looked at Stanley. It was riddled with nervous energy, but still, a glimmer of affection and adoration lingered in his wide brown eyes.

 “Mama I’m sorry, I—” Mike reached up to take her hand, Jessica moving away slightly with a chuff.

 “You know what happened to Daddy, Mike, and you still gon’ rub up on that white boy? Under your Daddy’s damn tree?” She hissed, her lip quivering slightly as she felt her back hit the trunk.

 “Stanley asked me to take him somewhere that meant a lot to me… so I brought him here. You can’t blame me for wanting to take him to a place where I felt safe.”

 “How you feel safe here? Huh?” Jessica cried, eyes wide and glazed over. “how you feel safe when Daddy was hung up like a damn animal right on that branch above ya’ head?! How you feel safer here than your own damn house?”

 

Mike went silent, his fists laying dormant at his sides. He turned away from Jessica, shame plastered all over his face.

 “If it means anything, Ma’am,” Stanley interjected, shuttering when Jessica glared at him, “I don’t care that he’s not white.”

 “That’s what they all said when we moved here,” Jessica snarled, “They treated Will like a friend till he stop workin’ for them. You folks only want to use us, and I won’t let you use my son.”

 “He’s not using me Mama,” Mike protested, glancing up at her, “He said he loves me. You told me that you can’t lie about love.”

 “If he loves you then why ain’t he ever come over to the house? Hm? He think he too good to step foot in a black person’s house?”

 “He never came over because I didn’t want you to know I was a queer!”

 

The word rolled off of his tongue with ease but Jessica could sense the hesitance behind it, her son looking away as everything came crashing down. Jessica let out heavy breaths as her eyes darted back and forth between the boys, the world coming to a screeching halt. Her breath became stuck in her throat as she put two and two together, a guttural noise of distress leaving her lips. She shoved the pocket knife back in her pocket before reaching down, tugging hard on Mike’s hair.

 

“You had me cryin’ and worryin’ about you just ‘cause you thought I cared if you was a queer?” She scoffed, shaking her head with a curse. “You always sneaking off at the ass crack of dawn, making your poor Mama worry that she was gonna find you dead in the riverbed. Shameful, that’s what it is.”

 

Stanley watched as Jessica pulled Mike to his feet, her hand still planted firmly in his hair. She tossed Stanley his shirt, the boy catching it and stumbling backward.

 “Come on, the least you could do is eat dinner with us if you gon’ be messing around with my boy,” Jessica called out as she dragged Mike back to the house. Stanley pulled his shirt back on, following just a few paces behind, each step taken with hesitance.

 Mike winced as he felt his mother’s nails dig into his scalp, tripping over his own feet as he was pulled through the front door of the house.

 “Mama, let go of my head!” Mike ordered, hissing as he felt Jessica retracted her talons from his head.

 “Go do your chores while I talk with Stanley,” She instructed. Mike frowned slightly, nodding and going out onto the porch to tug on his boots.

 

Stanley felt around his back pockets, cursing softly as he checked the front.

 “Mrs. Hanlon,” He hummed, “Did you happen to also pick up my ascot?”

 “Ass-cot?” She said back, brows furrowed, “I don’t know, or want to know what that is if it has to do with your ass—“

 “No, no,” Stanley quickly said, a laugh bubbling out with his words. “it’s a strip of fabric that ties around your neck. You don’t put it on your… your bottom,” he quickly explained.

 

Jessica stared at him before letting out a loud snort. “You really are queer, aren’t you?” She teased, rolling her eyes when she saw Stanley frown. “I’m just teasing, now, set this table while I tell you something.”

 Stanley mumbled a “yes Ma’am” before moving to the cabinet, taking out the plates carefully. He hurried over to the dining table, setting each plate in front of the chairs.

 

Jessica watched as she stirred the mash potatoes, humming softly to herself as she eyed the boy. Uris was one of the boys she had seen around town, with his perfect mop of tousled curls and bright blue eyes. But, he still appeared meek and thin. So thin.

 “What you eat at home, Stanley?” She asked, Stanley looking up from the cutlery.

 “I make my own food at home, Ma’am. My father works late, so I usually prepare a small meal for myself and a plate for him for when he gets home.”  Stanley explained, looking up to meet Jessica’s eyes for a moment,

 “And your Momma?”

 Stanley went silent for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he set the forks around the plates.

“She passed away after I was born, Ma’am,” he answered eyes diverting from her gaze. Jessica let out a soft hum in response.

“And that’s why you don’t know how to feed yourself,” she started up, “you never had a meal made by a Mama.”

Stanley smiled slightly as he turned towards her, admiring her kind face.

“I think I can cook fairly well, Mrs. Hanlon.”

 

Jessica scoffed, rolling her eyes as she set the mash potatoes down. “You think you can, but you can’t. Just like how you think you can mess around with my boy and not get caught.” She eyed the young man with a cocked brow and a knowing smile.

Stanley laughed softly, looking away with embarrassment painting his cheeks.

 

“If I’m honest...” He started, eyes shifting this way and that as he spoke with nervous energy. “I’m a lot more comfortable with you finding out than my father. Not that he doesn’t like… he just worries that’s all.” Stanley explained, watching as Jessica started making the gravy. She stayed silent for a moment before reaching into her apron pocket, pulling out the yellow ascot.

“Here, take that and go help Mike with his chores,” she mumbled, wiping off her hands on her apron. Jessica brought the hem of the fabric up to her face when she heard Stanley walk out of the front door, inspecting an old blood stain on the corner.

“And Stanley?” She called out, not looking up.

“Ma’am?”

“If you hurt my boy, I’ll bury you right next to Bowers in the front yard.” She warned, chuckling as his eyes widened. Stanley nodded before scurrying outside, Jessica glancing at the rifle that sat next to the couch.

 ••

 

_Jessica whistled a familiar tune as she wiped the tears from her eyes, drying them with her faded apron. She sighed as she sat the rifle in her lap, her hands shaking as she stroked the length of it slowly._

_“Mike,” She called out, “pour your Mama some water, and pour one for yourself. You a man now, you come sit out here and lemme tell you somethin’.”_

 

_Mike looked up from his father’s dresser when he heard his mother’s voice, sniffling as he tugged on one of Will’s shirts before heading to the kitchen. He took out the nice glasses and poured the water till both of them were filled to the brim, carefully carrying them outside. Jessica smiled sweetly at her son, whimpering slightly when she saw the shirt._

 

_“We gon’ make it up to Daddy, Mike, don’t you worry ‘bout that.”_

_“Why you got Daddy’s rifle?” Mike asked in a broken, pitiful voice, crawling up into the rocking chair next to his mother’s._

_“Mike, you know how God said you ain’t ‘spose to hurt nobody?” She mumbled her angered voice hidden under a mask of tenderness._

_Mike nodded. “Yeah, Daddy said you could go to hell for hurtin’ somebody.”_

_Jessica chuckled dryly with a nod. The sound made Mike shudder._

_“Well, baby, sometimes you gotta do things that God don’t like too much. ‘Cause if you don’t do it, then that person can go out and hurt other people, and that ain’t right.”_

 

_“No it aint,” Mike replied, eyes still glued to the rifle, “Mama?”_

_“Yeah, Mike?”_

_“Are you gon’ kill somebody?”_

_Jessica went silent, gazing out at the horizon. She took a sip of her water before setting it down on the dusty porch. Her hands no longer shook as she went to face her son. She tapped her nails against the cold metal barrel of the rifle._

 

_“Yes, baby.” A weak smile spread across Jessica’s tear-stained face._

 

_“But I don’t want you to go to hell, Mama,” Mike whispered, frowning as he felt his eyes fill with tears. Jessica shook her head, reaching over to squeeze his hand._

_“Don’t you be crying over me, Mike, you hear me? You the man of the house now, you gotta be strong and tough like Daddy was. Daddy wasn’t scared of no Hell and neither should you. Daddy just did what was right, and that’s what I’m gon’ do.”_

 

_Mike nodded with a sniffle, wiping his wet eyes as he tried to keep back his sobs. He whimpered as his head began to throb, hiding in Will’s shirt as he let out a wrecked cry of sorrow._

_Jessica fought the urge to comfort Mike, instead staring out at the forest that sat in front of their yard. A few figures emerged from the dense trees, causing Jessica to rise from her rocking chair._

_Her heart stopped. Her breath quickened. Her fingers stayed steady._

 

_“See that band all dressed in white,” she whispered softly, taking a deep breath as she stood in front of her porch with the rifle in her skilled hands._

_“God’s gonna trouble these waters,” she started to sing, her voice heavy like the weight of her husband’s body._

_“It looks like a band of the Israelite,” she raised her voice as the figures stalked closer, not bothering to speed up._

_They were mocking her. They knew she wouldn’t run. She watched as Bower’s twirled the rope, his wild blue eyes lit with the Devil’s fire. She felt an ungodly anger rise in her, lips peeling back into a grin as she raised the rifle._

_“God’s gonna trouble these waters!” She belted, cackling as she saw the men freeze at the sight of her rifle._

 

_“Don’t tell me y’all scared now!” Jessica called out with a grin, starting a fast walk towards the men. One of them broke into a run, trying to escape her rifle, but Jessica was quick. She pointed at his head and pulled the trigger, the shot ringing in her ears and echoing across the lush farmland._

_“One down, three to go!” She laughed with devilish delight, cocking the rifle with ease._

_Mike watched as his mother made the men get to their knees, bending at her will. The sight filled him with horrid awe, still torn between his mother being condemned to Hell and the revenge his father deserved._

 

_“Never thought a lady could make you kneel, huh, Bowers?” Jessica taunted him, the man growling like a trapped animal. She gave the men a calm smile, the sight putting the two other men on edge._

_Bowers simply smiled back, his teeth grimy and yellow like a mangy dog’s fangs._

_“You ain’t no lady, Jessie,” He spat at her feet before looking back up at the woman with a defiant gaze.  “you just a nigger like Will.”_

 

_The way the words rolled off Butch’s tongue made Jessica’s dark eyes light with a ferocious fire, a grimace forming in her brows and lip. She took the metal barrel of the gun, pipe colliding with Butch’s head with a thick, bloody sound._

_“That’s Miss Hanlon to you, motherfucker!” She barked, watching the man on his knees keel over with a pained groan. The other two men that accompanied Butch exchanged wild looks of fear, and Jessica took notice of their fear, the feeling radiating off of them. She chuckled dryly, cocking the gun again. The metallic sound made the men shiver._

_“Y’all scared?” She mocked, pointing the gun at the man to her right, watching him tremble and whimper. “That’s too bad, ain’t it?” Without another word the rifle went off again, the bullet pushing through his forehead and lodging in his skull._

 

_Jessica hummed at her work for a moment, the stranger’s body flopping onto the grass with a sickening thud. As blood started to saturate the dirt, Jessica looked up to the two remaining men, cocking the rifle again. She repeated the same action to the other man, to Butch’s left, the man letting out a yelp as the bullet became stuck in his chest. A trembling hand clutched his chest, his breath quickening as he began gasping for air like he had none left._

 

_“Oh, sorry, darlin’.” Jessica sighed, cocking the gun again before shooting directly between the man’s eyes. “Missed the first time.”_

_Butch still looked up at Jessica from his place on his knees, trying to hide the visible fear that shook through him. Blood dripped from his broken nose, his teeth mangled and crooked as he spoke._

 

_“Do it, Jess. Won’ matter if you kill me. Will still gon’ be gone, an’ that nigger kid ‘uh your’s gon’ get what’s comin’ to him too.” Butch snarled with a defiant grin.  Jessica cocked the gun, pressing the barrel in between Butch’s eyes._

_Butch didn’t flinch, his blue eyes locking with Jessica’s “Yer’ nothin more than a nigger-whore, Jessie.” The words were laced with hatred, making Jessica bristle with anger. “Won’t matter if you kill me, I’m still gon’ be with you.”_

 

_Jessica pulled the trigger._

  _••_

 

The clouds above the roof of the Hanlon house began to rumble and quake in a dark melody, the sound like the voice of God from Mike’s bedroom in the attic. From the small windows in his room, the trees swayed back and forth with the wind, branches knocking against the wood of the house to create a hollow rapping of some unknown thing that never seemed to cease.

 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like your going home anytime soon.” Mike hummed as he peered out the window, looking back to see Stanley sitting on his bed, legs crossed as he laid back on the pillows. Stanley let out a soft laugh at the prospect. They always talked about spending the night in each other’s arms, still frightful about what would happen if they ever chose to do so.

 

“Your Mom won’t mind?” Stan asked, resting his heavy head in his right hand as he watched Mike pace the length of the bedroom, starting to strip himself of the clothing now soiled from his labor.

Mike looked over his bare shoulder at his lover relaxing on his quilt with a smile. “I know she seems like she doesn’t like you but trust me, if she didn’t, you’d be dead.” He laughed at the surprised look on Stanley’s face. “I’m only kidding, Lamb. She likes you.” He smiled, taking a towel that hung from the inside of his closet and wiping down his body.

 

Stanley hummed, a small smile permanently plastered on his face at the lovely sight of his boyfriend. Even after knowing him for so long, he still adored a bare-chested Mike Hanlon. The sight of Mike’s dark, broad chest made Stanley shiver with excitement, Stanley arching his back slightly to show off his ass.

 

“Come here,” He said softly, making Mike turn his head with a coy smile.

“What?” Mike mused, a clean white t-shirt in his left hand as he stood clad in his jeans. It was almost as if he could feel Stanley’s hands covering his body as those pretty eyes moved their way up and down his body suggestively.

“I said come here.” Stanley hummed again, raising himself up from his spot among the pillows, kicking off his sandals and untying the yellow ascot around his neck.

“And what if I don’t?” Mike mumbled, cocking his brow as he moved closer to the bed with slow strides.

 

Stanley moved to lay down on his back, letting his legs fall open with a sly grin. He watched as Mike’s eyes followed his hand down his chest, Stanley sneaking his fingertips under the hem of his high waist bell bottoms.

 

“I’ll have to get myself off without your help, and I don’t think either of us want that.”

Mike grinned, setting his shirt aside and climbing onto the bed. Stanley smiled, looking up at Mike as the other man hovered over him, one hand on either side of Stanley.

“You look groovy in those bell bottoms,” Mike teased, chuckling as he heard Stanley let out a tiny snicker.

“I bought them just for you,” Stanley whispered, reaching up to cradle Mike’s face, “because I know you like the way the denim hugs my ass.”

Mike, grinned as he leaned in close. Their lips connected in a slow, gentle kiss, Mike humming low against his lover’s lips as he moved one of his hands to Stanley’s hip. As he broke the kiss, Mike sat up, quickly undoing Stan’s jeans and helping him out of the clothing. Stanley lifted up his hips with a whine as the jeans got stuck on his ass, Mike huffing.

“Why are they so tight?” Mike grumbled, letting out a slight cheer when he managed to pull them down.

“Hurry up before I jump your bones,” Stanley whispered, still smiling to himself. The bell bottoms were discarded, and Stanley’s hands were on Mike’s shoulder blades, pulling him down into another slow kiss.

“You’re so beautiful, Lamb.” Mike sighed, their foreheads pressed together. Stanley smiled up at him, fingers raking through Mike’s hair.

“So are you, Dove.”

 

The two men fell into a fit of blushing laughter before their lips pressed together again. As they kissed, Mike’s hands wandered up Stanley’s shirt, resting on his waist before pulling him up into his denim-clad lap. Mike’s hands raked up his chest, Stanley letting out soft gasps as his fingers chilled his skin. He whined slightly, nipping at Mike’s bottom lip before straddling his thighs.

Stanley shifted in his lap awkwardly before deciding on an angle, grinding down his hips against Mike’s groin. Soft gasps left his parted lips, tousled curls obscuring his vision as he looked at Mike with a heavy gaze. Mike only grinned in return, hands guiding Stanley’s movements.

“Somethin’ you want, baby?” Mike mused, holding Stanley’s chin to look at him.

 

The other boy moaned as he felt his cock rub against the rough denim through his boxers, eyes wide and filled with lust. “Want you to fill me, Mike. Want your fingers.” He shuddered at the dark chuckle he got in response.

 Mike patted Stanley’s ass with a sigh before helping him out of his boxers, giving Stanley’s cock a few strokes before pulling back despite Stanley’s protests.

 

“Look in the top drawer,” Mike nodded to his bedside table. “and get the lube for me.” Stanley nodded, doing as he was told as quick as possible before repositioning himself back on Mike’s thighs.

“Why’d you get this?” Stan asked with a breathy chuckle, handing the bottle to Mike.

“For things like this, silly.” Mike laughed, catching the other man’s lips into a sweet, slow kiss. Mike groaned into the kiss as he felt Stanley’s tongue swipe against his bottom lip, Mike parting them happily. Mike’s tongue invaded the other’s mouth, relishing in Stanley’s moans as he teased the roof of his mouth with a smile. He pushed Stanley back against the headboard of the bed against the pillows, strong hands pulling him further up onto his left thigh.

 

Stanley’s hips kept a steady rhythm as he rutted up against his thigh, eager to feel his lover’s touch. “Please, Mike, please…” He whimpered, looking into those dark brown eyes and feeling himself melt as they met his own. Stanley let out a loud whine as he sped up his hips slightly, his cock throbbing with need.

“Shh, easy baby.” Mike purred, pouring the cool liquid onto his right hand while his left massaged Stanley’s ass. The other boy moaned softly as he was spread open, fingers gripping onto Mike’s dark shoulders. As a slick finger touched his entrance, Stanley shuddered, eyes closing as he breathed out slowly. Mike’s free hand rested on the small of Stanley’s back, his index finger tracing gentle circles on the tight ring of muscle.

 

“Mike pl-please.” Stanley whimpered, his arms now wrapped loosely around Mike’s neck. Soft lips pressed to Stanley’s neck in reply, peppering his skin delicately. Mike slowly pressed his finger into Stanley’s warmth, listening to the man fall apart above him with soft gasps.  

Mike grinned, looking into heavy-lidded blue eyes. “Such a desperate thing, aren’t you?” He mused with a delighted grin. His question was quickly answered with another moan, and Stanley’s hips rocked down onto Mike’s index finger needily.

“Stop teasing.” The raven-haired boy huffed, skin already blotchy and hot with lust. He groaned as he felt Mike’s finger only slide in past the first knuckle. Mike grinned, holding Stanley’s chin in his left hand.

 

“Ask nicely.”

Stanley whined impatiently, trying to grind his hips down onto Mike’s finger. “Please?” He whimpered, blue eyes becoming impossibly wide as he looked up at Mike with a desperate gaze.

“Nicer…” Mike hummed, silently adoring how quickly he was able to make Stanley fall apart from just a few skilled touches. His command was first met with another whimper and a roll of Stanley’s hips, his throbbing cock leaking pre-cum onto the fabric of Mike’s jeans.

Mike arched his brow, removing his finger and listening to the dissatisfied whine that escaped those pretty pink lips.

“Mikey please…” Stanley whined, trying to get himself off by just the friction of Mike’s jeans. His hips moved quick, but Mike only watched with hungry eyes. When Mike didn’t respond, Stan continued, breath heavy. “Please, Mikey… want you to spread me open pl-please… I need you.” His voice was all but a needy whine. Stanley’s hard cock still rocked hard onto Mike’s thigh, and every movement pulled another breathy sigh of pleasure from his lips.

Mike hummed with approval, a devious smirk on his lips. “Good boy.”

 

The praise sent a wave of pleasure over Stanley, and he felt Mike’s finger slide into his hole with ease. Stanley shuddered as he clenched around Mike’s thick digit, a guttural groan escaping his throat.

“You make me feel so good, Mikey,” Stanley whispered, resting his forehead against Mike’s shoulder with a ragged sigh as he felt the finger thrust in and out. Mike grinned, leaning down to nip at Stanley’s earlobe as he curled his finger slightly to tease his prostate.

“I’ve had a lot of practice, I guess,” he joked, Stanley letting out a soft giggle before moaning and grinding against Mike’s finger.

 

A second finger quickly slid up next to the first, thrusting in and out of Stanley in quick, shallow motions. The begging boy was soon a mess of himself, a series of whimpers and whines falling from his lips with every curl and twist of Mike’s fingers.

 

“You’re getting too loud, baby,” Mike hummed, watching as Stanley rode his fingers with soft, breathy moans.

“Ca-can’t help h-how good it feels…” Stanley huffed with a smile, head tossing back as Mike thrust his fingers in deeper.

“Well you’re gonna have to quiet down, baby. Don’t want anyone to hear you.” Mike whispered, his fingers moving up in quicker thrusts that before. The movements only made Stanley let out a loud string of “uh”s as he ground down on his thigh, however, despite Mike’s warnings. His voice was a broken cry, head falling forward to rest on Mike’s shoulder.

“M-mikey I—” Stan’s voice broke off into a moan, and he tried to silence it by biting his lower lip, only turning the noise into a groan. He whimpered as he tried to form a sentence, only broken gasps leaving his lips. Mike felt his cock throb softly at the sound, his left hand reaching for Stanley’s bright yellow ascot that laid by his leg.

 

“C’mere, darlin’.” Mike hummed, slipping his fingers out of Stanley for a moment. The boy whimpered at the sudden empty feeling and raised his head up, seeing the fabric twirled in Mike’s fingers, creating a stark contrast between the yellow fabric and his dark skin.

Stanley’s brow arched as he let out a ragged breath. “What do you plan on doing with that?” he hummed as Mike stretched the ascot out.

“Thought this would keep you quiet.” Mike simply put, grinning shyly as Stan’s cheeks turned bright pink. “If you want to—”

 

“Yes.” Stan quickly said, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with a quick inhale. Mike’s grin grew wide and his cheeks flushed, quickly pressing the silky yellow fabric to Stanley’s lips and tying it neatly behind his head.

“Good?” Stanley nodded silently in response. Mike’s left hand curled in Stanley’s hair, watching the other man’s eyes flutter shut from the comforting touch. “You’re so pretty, baby… so, so pretty.” Mike hummed, and Stanley moaned quietly behind the fabric, feeling three slick fingers brush against his loose hole. They thrust in quickly, the sudden movement making Stan let out a squeak of surprise, eyes flashing open.

 

Mike chuckled, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly. “Such a good boy… all nice and quiet for me.” He whispered in the other's ear, and Stanley visibly shuddered from the affectionate words. Mike started to pick up his pace, watching Stanley rock his hips down to meet the deep thrusts of Mike’s fingers.

The sight was gorgeous, watching Stanley writhe and whimper with pleasure. Though the ascot kept Stanley relatively quiet, Mike could still hear the delighted noises that were muffled by the fabric.

His left hand ran through Stanley’s damp curls, cupping his face as he spoke softly into his ear. “You’re so beautiful like this baby. Look at you, all worked up for me.”

 

Stanley answered with a muffled moan, blue eyes wide as he looked at Mike. His hips rocked down hard onto the three digits, his whimpers becoming high pitched as Mike started to hit his prostate. As Stanley became more desperate, tears started to prick from his glossy eyes,  silently begging Mike for more.

“You like that, darling?” Mike hummed, and Stanley nodded eagerly, his body trembling as pleasure started to overwhelm every part of his body. His hips canted up to Mike’s clothed erection, his own cock making a mess on the fabric of his jeans.

 

“You look so pretty like this, baby.” Mike cooed, watching Stanley writhe from the praise. Mike chuckled, thrusting his fingers upwards to Stanley’s prostate over and over again. “You like it when I tell you that? How pretty my baby looks for me?” Mike continued, adoring the way Stanley whined, nodding eagerly.

Mike’s fingers ran through Stanley’s curls, pressing sweet kisses to his tear-stained cheeks. “All worked up just from my fingers. God, you’re so perfect, you know that?” Mike nibbled Stanley’s earlobe before his lips began to trail down his neck.

 

Stanley whimpered, rutting his hips onto Mike’s thigh eagerly. A series of breathy noises came from him, though they were all muffled by the ascot. His fingers dug into Mike’s shoulder blades, begging for release while those soft lips sucked a bruise into his skin. A desperate sob came from behind the fabric when Mike’s skilled fingers thrust hard against his prostate. He moved his hips quickly, his cock bouncing as he moved his hips.

 

Mike chuckled at the sight, feeling his lover clench around his three fingers. “Cum for me, baby, go on. You look so pretty when you do.” He purred softly into his lover’s ear. Stanley was undone just by the words, his cock spilling onto Mike’s jeans as he whimpered and cried out from behind the fabric of the ascot. His hips trembled as he came, still grinding weakly onto Mike’s thigh as he rode out his high.

Two hands came to cradle Stan’s face, Mike’s thumb gently wiping the tears that had started to fall. “You did so well, Lamb. Such a good boy…” Mike praised, watching Stanley’s wet eyes flutter open to look at him. Stanley sighed heavily behind the fabric, his limp head leaning into Mike’s gentle touches.

 

Mike slowly undid the ascot. Once the fabric was taken off, Stanley sighed, immediately catching Mike’s lips into a slow kiss. He hummed, cupping the other man’s face as he deepened the kiss, eyes closing as he pulled Mike closer and closer as if Mike would disappear if Stan didn’t hold on. His hands roamed over Mike’s soft skin, holding his body close to his own.

 

As their bodies pressed together, Stanley could feel Mike’s clothed erection pressing hard against his jeans. Mike couldn’t help but grind up into the warmth of Stanley’s ass, the boy letting out a pained gasp before wiggling slightly away. Mike frowned, whispering out an apology as he tried to pry Stanley off of him. Stanley, however, shushed Mike and tightened his hold on him.

 

“Mike,” Stanley purred softly, his right hand moving to undo the button and zipper of Mike’s jeans despite the soft protest that left Mike’s lips. “Let me take care of you…” He purred softly, pulling the man into another slow kiss. Mike hummed, holding the other man close to himself. As he felt Stanley shift off his lap, he made a noise of uncertainty, watching Stanley shift on the bed.

“Baby I don’t wanna hurt you.” Mike hummed as they broke the kiss, watching Stan sit on his knees in front of him, toying with the waistband of his jeans and briefs. Besides under-the-cover things and heated makeouts, this was the farthest either of them had come. Mike would usually brush off Stanley’s attempts to help him get off for fear of hurting him, and now Stanley could see why.  

A coy smile was on the raven-haired boy's lips, making Mike arch his brow in question. “What do you have in mind?” He mused, watching the way Stanley’s blue eyes looked up at him with lust.

 

Stanley leaned in closer, kissing Mike’s neck and leaving gentle bites as he went. Their bodies pressed together, Stanley’s hand slipping under Mike’s jeans and palming the other man’s hard erection through pre-cum stained briefs.

Mike groaned softly as he felt Stanley squeeze his cock through the fabric, blushing at the slight look of shock on Stanley’s face as he felt up Mike’s whole length.

“My thighs,” Stanley whispered in a desperate, breathy voice. “Want you to fuck my thighs, Mikey.”

The thought made Mike groan in response, his hands squeezing Stanley’s hips. Those delicate lips began to suck a bruise into Mike’s skin, but Mike was not in the mood to wait.

“Stop teasing baby, c’mon.” He groaned, feeling Stanley’s thumb press into the wet slit of his cock. “Hands and knees.” Mike prompted with a light tap to Stanley’s ass.

 

The other man didn’t hesitate, moving out of Mike’s hands quickly and getting onto his hands and knees, lower back arched to show off for the other man. “Like this?” Stanley asked voice laced with mock-innocence.

“Perfect, baby.” Mike hummed, his hands immediately on Stanley’s hips as he got to his knees behind the other man. He chuckled softly, squeezing and massaging Stanley’s ass as he littered words of praise to his lover. “You’re so perfect, Stanny.” Mike hummed, kissing down Stanley’s spine while he picked up the discarded bottle of lube.

Stan only nodded, shuddering as Mike started to rub his inner thighs with the cool liquid. Mike pulled down his jeans and boxers past his thighs in one quick motion, slicking up his cock while he watched Stanley wait with anticipation.

“M-mike please…” Stan whimpered, spreading his legs and arching his lower back more. “I need you please…”  

 

A dark chuckle came from behind Stanley, the sound making his skin prick with goosebumps in anticipation. Fingers carded through Stan’s curls before his head was abruptly tugged back, making him gasp in surprise.

 

The yellow fabric of his ascot came into view.

“Wouldn’t want you to get too loud, now.” Mike hummed before quickly tying the ascot around Stanley’s mouth again. The feeling of the silk against his lips made Stanley hum, head tilting back with wide eyes that silently begged for approval.

“You look lovely, baby.” Mike cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to Stanley’s curls.

 

He couldn’t help but grin at the delicious sight before him, his left hand rubbing the small of Stanley’s back while his cock pressed up against Stanley’s slick skin. “So desperate...” He teased, and Stanley only moaned in affirmation, pressing his hips back when Mike’s thick cock slid in between his slick thighs.

A choked moan left Stanley’s lips, thighs pressing together as Mike slid against his own erection. His groan was muffled by the silk, fists already tangled in the sheets.

Mike huffed out a laugh, moving his hips in drawn-out thrusts. He loved how slick Stanley was, how hot his skin had become just from Mike’s touches. His lips trailed up Stanley’s spine, leaving tender bites on the nape of his lover’s neck while he thrusted his hips.

 

“So needy for me, huh, darlin’? Want my cock so bad you’ll even let me fuck your thighs.” He chuckled, and Stanley whimpered, head pressed to the pillows in front of him.

Stanley sobbed into the pillow, trying to keep his voice as low as possible, though he was failing miserably. His body was slammed into the mattress with each hard thrusts and was Mike’s cock slid in between his thighs, Stanley’s legs pressed together with a muffled moan, loving how close he was to Mike. He closed his eyes tight as he felt the tip of Mike’s cock brush up against his stomach with each thrust, the realization of how big Mike actually was making Stanley shutter with delight. He felt a heat form in his groin as he listened to Mike’s pants, the sound almost comforting in a way.

 

The tight heat of Stanley’s thighs made Mike’s head heavy with lust, making the pace of his hips quicken. After being pent up for so long, he couldn’t help the way he thrusted against Stanley with reckless abandon. The man under him was a puddle of himself, his body pressed into the sheets of the bed while Mike used his body.

“Mike,” Stanley tried to call out, the ascot muffling his words. He groaned and tightened his grip on the sheets, tears welling up in his eyes as he felt his own cock beg for a break from the overstimulation he was getting. His cock was hard between his legs, and he could feel his thighs tighten as another orgasm ripped through him, painting the sheets with his cum. His sobs of pleasure were muffled by the ascot and the pillows his limp head rested on, body shaking from overstimulation.

Stanley let out a gasp of relief when he felt Mike speed up, loud grunts escaping his lips as his hips slapped against Stanley’s ass. Mike pressed his chest against Stanley’s back as he felt himself reach his climax, his callused hands gripping Stanley’s waist.

 

“I love you,” Mike mumbled in his ear, his thrusts uncoordinated as he felt his sack tighten. “I love you…”

Stanley sniffled as he felt Mike’s soft lips against his neck, the other’s cum splattering across his stomach. The feeling made the overstimulated boy shudder, his soft sobs of pleasure muffled by the abused ascot. His body still trembled as Mike showered his skin with tender kisses.

 

Mike hushed him softly, undoing the knot of the fabric tied around Stanley’s head before pulling his limp body into his arms.

“I…” Stanley hiccuped, turning on shaking legs to face Mike with a tear-stained face. “I love you too.”

 

Mike smiled softly, peppering Stanley’s cheeks with soft kisses while his hands roamed on his sharp shoulder blades. “I love you,” He whispered again like a mantra, his breath heavy as he laid Stanley down. He ran a hand up the boy’s pale chest, admiring the hickeys that he planted all over Stanley’s neck.

 

Stanley smiled up at his lover, cheeks turning pink at Mike’s words. “I love you too, baby.” He sighed, hands running up Mike shoulder blades and pulling him close to his own chest. They kissed slowly, Stanley sighing softly into the embrace with a smile painted on his lips.

 

As they pulled away, Stanley still held Mike close, looking up at him with wide blue eyes. “Dove…” He said softly.

The tone of his gentle, unsure voice made Mike arch his brow. “Yeah, Lamb?”

“Next time I…” Stanley whispered, blushing a bit as he glanced away. He sighed and cupped Mike’s face with his hands, his thumb stroking the other’s cheek. “I want you to make love to me.”

 

Mike blinked, losing his voice for a moment. “Stanny, I don’t wanna hurt you.” He said slowly, shifting to lay by Stan’s side. Stanley turned towards him, his fingers tracing the edges of his baby hair as he hummed softly.

“I know, Mike, but you won’t hurt me,” he reassured him, “I want you to do this because I love you and I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Mike bit his bottom lip nervously, staring down into his lover’s eyes as he thought it over. He was always taught that sex was something special, something that was personal and should only be done with someone he loved and wanted to marry.

He didn’t mind the idea of marrying Stanley.

 

“Okay,” Mike replied with a soft smile, “but I don’t want to rush you.”

Stan smiled in return, shifting closer to leave a quick kiss on Mike’s cheek. “I know.” He hummed, his nose brushing against the crook of  Mike’s neck as he curled up close to his chest. “I love you.” He whispered, his voice soft and intimate, a gentle tone from his hoarse, wrecked voice.

Mike’s left arm wrapped around Stanley’s body, pressing a kiss to his curls. “I love you too.” He murmured against his soft hair, eyes closing while the storm outside calmed his nerves.

“I want to find us a place of our own,” Stanley mumbled after silence began to fill the room. His fingertips lazily drew shapes onto Mike’s chest as he spoke.

“Like where, baby?” Mike asked quietly, his voice already heavy with fatigue.

“Somewhere in the city,” Stan hummed, “maybe up in New York…”

“New York?” Mike chuckled tiredly, playing with Stanley’s curls, “we don’t have the money to live up there.”

“Money wouldn’t be a problem,” Stanley replied, glancing up into Mike’s half-closed eyes, “I have a friend up there… he could help us get started.”

“And who’s this friend of yours, baby?” Mike smiled, placing another kiss on Stanley’s temple. Stanley smiled softly before moving closer, yawning in his answer.

“He’s in some band now…” another yawn. “...not sure if he even remembers me. I can give him a call, ask if he has room for us…” Stanley hummed, trying not to fall victim to sleep too early.

“I don’t think my Mama would want me moving that far away,” Mike reminded him, earning a sigh from the pale boy. Mike chuckled, rubbing his back with a smile. “She worries a lot.”

“I know… but you’re an adult now, you deserve to make a life for yourself,” Stanley whispered, his own eyes growing heavy. “Make a life with me.”

“You want to spend your life with me..?” Mike asked, his voice soft and quiet like the wind. Stanley nodded softly, letting out another yawn before relaxing against Mike’s chest.

“I want you to be happy, Mike… I know you’re not happy in Derry.”

 

Mike fell asleep drag his body down slowly, only a deep groan of agreement leaving his lips before exhaustion overtook him.

 

Stanley smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lip before sitting up carefully. He limped across the wooden floor before pulling on one of Mike’s clean shirts, the fabric pooling around his knees. Stan stretched, arms reaching to the sky before he forced himself to walk down the creaky stairs. The sound of the old wood under his feet was drowned out by the heavy rain and thunder that persisted outside. Stanley’s legs shook as he tried his best to make it down to the landline.

 

“I just washed that shirt. Don’t you go dirty it up.” Jessica called out from the couch, the sound making Stanley jump. He turned towards her, too tired to wonder why she was still up so late.

“May I use your landline, Mrs. Hanlon?” He asked, his voice soft and weak. She sighed and nodded, setting aside the magazine in her lap.

“Who you calling, honey?”

“A friend,” Stanley replied sleepily, punching the memorized numbers into the phone before bringing the receiver up to his ear. He listened to the muffled ringing, letting out a sigh of relief when he heard the crackling noise of someone pick up.

 

_“Hello?”_

“Is this Richie Tozier?”

_“The one and only. Who’s asking?”_

“This is Stanley Uris...I need to ask you for a favor.”


End file.
